


Like A Handprint On My Heart

by kayura_sanada



Series: For Good [22]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Not the Happiest Part Of This Series, Obsession, Psychological Trauma, Return Of the Sub-Plot, Side Pairing: Isabela/Merrill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 09:49:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12791985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayura_sanada/pseuds/kayura_sanada
Summary: Azzan meets his stalker.





	Like A Handprint On My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE NOTE THE WARNINGS. Nothing this stalker does is nice, nor is any of it acceptable.

It had been nighttime when Azzan had finally made his way back home, only to fall asleep once again nearly the instant he assured himself that his house was clear of any sign of the killer. Orana had been waiting nervously by the door, her hands red from wringing them so hard as she’d explained that she and Aveline had worked for hours to get the house in order for him. He thanked her, nearly hugging her before remembering how she would freeze up at casual touch. His room had been cleared, his closets practically empty after his things had been burned. Thankfully, his armor was in its stash, not the closets, and had been spared.

He’d slept fitfully on a clean bed with clean sheets, and had finally fallen to sleep after what felt like several hours. Aegis slept next to the bed, grumbling a bit every once in a while, likely because of the scent still lingering in the room despite Orana’s and Aveline’s efforts. Azzan huddled, hands crossed over his chest, and rubbed his arms as he tried to sleep.

By the time he’d woken, he was nearly angry he’d allowed even those few hours’ respite. He’d found the feel of the killer’s magic – all demonic, and deeply powerful, unlike most of those who fell to the first demon offering the right thing at the right time. This one seemed as if he’d picked the strongest demon he could find – a named demon, most likely, and one powerful enough to get its way through force if necessary. Perhaps that was even what had happened. None of them would have any clue one way or the other if they didn’t catch the man.

He’d already thought about who to bring. Most of his friends were tired after their ordeal with the Arishok. It was too early to be hurrying off on yet another suicidal venture, but if he was going to, then he would be bringing those who’d had the most chance to rest. That meant Fenris, Merrill, and Isabela would be coming with him. Isabela wouldn’t be rested, per se, since Anders had spoken of her helping and, moreover, since she’d just barely escaped death. But if Varric was doing half of what Anders claimed, and after Aveline had to work on the murder yesterday on top of everything else, and Sebastian was working as non-stop at the Chantry as Azzan thought, then Isabela was still the best option he had.

The feel of the demon that had been in his home was almost sticky on the back of his mind; Faith was most affected, wanting nothing to do with such darkness. Now that they were linked, he felt more keenly its turmoil. He comforted it with the knowledge that they were not going to be linking with it. Touching something dirty was gross, but that was what soap and water was for. To clean oneself off afterward.

He went to Fenris first, even though the two of them would end up having to come back up to Azzan’s home to follow the thread of demonic energy, anyway. He could use the excuse that he wanted to have an ally with him in case he met any trouble on his way to picking up the other two, but considering the fact that Aegis was still with him, and the fact that he nearly raced to Fenris’ door, that wasn’t the truth. The truth was that he simply wished to see Fenris again.

He knocked on the door and stared at the ground. Their last meeting had been over his mother’s death, and it hadn’t gone well. Azzan had fallen apart in front of Fenris, even though Fenris needed him to be his bulwark. He’d handed the elf the crest his mother had had made for him, even though it was at a time when Fenris couldn’t discard it without making an obvious show of callousness to Azzan. He couldn’t imagine the reunion would be anything other than stilted – at best.

Fenris opened the door. Azzan opened his mouth to speak – only to notice Fenris was fully dressed. Completely. And on the wrist gripping the door jamb was the favor Azzan had given him. Another flash of red, and metal where it usually wasn’t, made Azzan’s gaze dip just a bit lower. His breath stilled in his chest. The crest sat on Fenris’ belt.

Tears came so strongly to his eyes they burned. He quickly looked away. “Hey, Fenris,” he said, and found his voice was thick, as if the tears, forced back from his eyes, had fallen to his throat. “I need your help.”

Fenris was quiet for a moment. Azzan felt the heat of Fenris’ body, saw the man move closer in his peripheral vision. He automatically stepped back, only to hear the quiet snick of the door closing. “I figured that would be the case. I’m surprised it took you this long to find some cause to serve.” The man didn’t mention the favor or the crest. He didn’t want it spoken of. Of course. Azzan could do that. He could.

He took a deep breath. “Yes. Well. This will either be a waste of time, or incredibly dangerous.”

Fenris snorted. “So just another day with you, is it?”

It shocked out a laugh. It nearly hurt his chest. “I guess so.”

Fenris stood silently beside him as he went to The Hanged Man and the alienage to pick up the others. The elf seemed content to let the silence linger between them, though the tension Azzan expected was nowhere to be found. He did keep looking at Aegis as if wondering why Azzan had brought the hound with him as well as calling upon him. The truth was that the mabari still refused to let Azzan out of his sight; Aegis still expected trouble, and he’d seen Azzan at his lowest for a bit too long.

Isabela joined him with a short laugh, stating how bored she’d been getting. There was something in her voice that hinted at something more, though Azzan couldn’t quite tell what it was. He decided it was good that he’d gone to her. They still hadn’t spoken about everything that had happened. Of course, every time he tried to broach it on the way to the alienage, he’d been loudly rebuffed. Thanks to Isabela’s efforts, talk had sunk to who on the street was most likely into freaky things in the bed. That was what he listened to as he went up to Merrill’s home and banged thrice on the door.

Merrill blinked at him when she opened the door to see him, quickly hiding her staff behind her back. “Hawke!” she said, her voice oddly high. “Oh! And Isabela! What are you doing here?”

“I have a favor to ask,” he said, and the young woman blinked at him. Behind them, Isabela was murmuring something to Fenris. “It’s likely to be dangerous, if anything even comes of it.”

The woman slipped a smile at him before her gaze slid back to Isabela. “So just some normal running around, then?”

“Ha! Fenris and I said the same thing,” Isabela said, dropping whatever conversation she was having with Fenris to speak to Azzan. “So now that we’re all together, can you tell us what this is about?”

Azzan nodded. “I can tell you while we make our way back to Hightown. I’ll need to do another check to have any chance of following the lead.”

He knew everyone was sending each other glances behind his back as he moved, but he couldn’t help it. Telling them what had happened yesterday would mean admitting how scared he was, how vulnerable. It would mean admitting how close this man had gotten.

“Hawke?” Fenris came closer. Azzan could feel something from Faith as he neared; at first he wondered if Faith was reacting to the feelings bursting like stars in his chest. Then he realized the spirit could feel the lyrium in Fenris’ skin. It wasn’t a bad sensation, more like the lightning he could smell on Fenris’ skin that night was suddenly able to be felt, too. It sizzled out from the elf’s skin. He wondered how it would feel if they touched now. His heart jumped.

Not that it would happen. Nothing like that would ever happen again.

“I’m fine,” Azzan said, and forced the words to be true. Faith sent him a bit of its strength to shore him up. “The killer got in touch with me again yesterday. Thanks to reconnecting with Faith, I can follow the trail–”

“Whoa, whoa, there,” Isabela said, holding out her hands. Azzan stopped instinctively, just in case she was warning him of a trap. The woman, however, simply put a fist on one unclad hip and cocked an eyebrow. “If you’re going to give us a spooky story, then you have to do it right! How did you find the letter?”

He sighed. “Well, it’s indelibly stamped in my mind, so I might as well,” he said, though the words garnered him no more than a blink. He motioned them all to the side, away from the bustle of the alienage and toward the slightly less crowded street beyond. People still passed them to and fro, but now they had less chance of everyone pressing against them hearing something that was not their business. “I went to speak with Varric last night and ended up falling asleep.”

“I saw you go into his place,” Isabela said with a grin. “I figured from that giant mug Nina brought that you wouldn’t be walking out any time soon. You never drink.”

He nodded. His friends likely thought he was averse to drinking – and well he should be, after how he’d lost it after his mother’s death – but before that, it had simply seemed good form to keep the others from learning what Varric had the first night he and Carver had sealed their deal with Varric to become his brother’s business partners. “When I woke up, I decided to speak with Anders regarding Faith.”

“And it worked, clearly,” Fenris said, his arms crossed as he stood before Azzan, “or else you wouldn’t be saying you can use the thing’s powers now.”

Azzan didn’t get upset at the word ‘thing.’ It was incredible. Faith wasn’t upset by his words, so why should Azzan be? Fenris didn’t trust mages. He had reason. It was that simple. “Yes. But before I did, I went back home. Anders told me he would be by to see me once – it doesn’t matter. When I went home, I found...” He struggled to continue. How to say it without sounding bombastic, or ridiculous, or vulnerable?

There was no way. Best to just say it, then.

“There was a dead body. In my living room.”

Their reactions were about as he’d predicted; perhaps it would have been better to bring Varric, anyway, or perhaps Aveline, so that they could help him explain all this. (Then again, Varric didn’t know yet, either. And if Azzan didn’t want the story to be bombastic, then Varric was actually the last person to call upon.) Fenris dropped his arms and looked Azzan up and down. Merrill, of course, dispensed with anything subtle right from the start. “Oh, my goodness! Who was it? Why was it there? Were you hurt?”

He smiled for her. Faith was pleased his friends cared about him. He was happy, too. Happier, perhaps, at the fact that Fenris looked ready to pull out his sword on the spot. Fenris may not have been willing to be in a relationship with him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care. “I’m fine. So are Orana, Bodahn, and Sandal. The killer used that ability of his to make his actions silent before he killed the man. The dead man was an apostate, like myself, though according to the templars, he was doing something shady. Likely blood magic. The killer murdered him in my home and left a letter.”

“That’s sick,” Isabela said. She no longer seemed interested in the details. She hugged herself with a grimace. “I take it he wasn’t still there when you returned.”

“No.” He could tell them the man had been in his dreams, but he didn’t know what that would do for any of them. With Faith back, he was no longer defenseless. Faith wondered at his hesitation for only a moment before seeming to understand his thoughts as clearly as he’d understood hers. He didn’t want to worry them. He didn’t want to scare them. And he didn’t want them to think he’d been taken over by a demon when he hadn’t been. Faith wondered if they would worry if they were safe, of if he was – they would worry either way, he thought. And with that, Faith seemed to accept his decision. “He’d left. But the body remained, as did the magic the demon used. I got a feel of it.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t call us sooner.”

Azzan looked at Fenris. He was tense. Angry? Upset? Confused? “Anders was the one to convince me. I hadn’t been sleeping well without Faith, and I hadn’t gotten her back until late that night. Even then, the work altering the contract had left me tired. I would be useless, and before last night, unable to heal. And we’d be walking into a trap.”

Fenris tensed again. “A trap?”

Azzan rubbed a hand over his face. Finally, he motioned everyone to move. He led them down Lowtown’s streets as he continued. “There were… signs… that the killer wanted me to follow after him. I was blind to them.” For a number of reasons. “Anders, again, was the one to point them out. And Aveline.” He didn’t want to think about it. He just wanted to find the man responsible and stop him. So that no one else got hurt. And so that he could sleep without the crawling feeling of someone watching him.

“So we’re heading into a trap. That’s what you meant by danger.” Isabela focused on something benign, for which Azzan was immediately grateful. Merrill, of course, did not catch the nonverbal cue.

“So what were the signs, then? Blood on the walls? Creepy organ bits? Ew, wait. I’m grossing myself out.”

“The letter,” Fenris growled.

“Well, there  _was_  a bloody message on the wall,” Azzan said, trying to chuckle for it. It  _was_  kind of hackneyed. It was also very effective. “But yes, the letter helped.”

“How did he get in?” Fenris asked.

“I don’t know. I left before I learned what the guards had found out. Aveline could probably tell you.” It was something he would have to learn, as well. There was likely little he could do to keep someone with a demon out of his home, but he would try, nonetheless. “For now, my concern is trying to find him. If we can stop him, then how he entered becomes a slightly less immediate concern.”

Everyone seemed to come to some silent consensus after that, because no one asked him any more questions, and he was suddenly pushed into a faster pace in order to remain in their regular formation.

The trip back to Hightown, and to his home, took little time despite the busy streets; the festival was to start in a few days, nearly a month after it had been originally announced. He wondered what it would be like now, with Meredith in charge of events. The thought made him cringe. They passed the markets, the street leading to the Blooming Rose, and stopped at Hawke’s place, just before the Keep. Merrill wrinkled her nose immediately. “Oh, I can feel that,” she said, and shivered. “It’s everywhere in the lower parts of the city, but usually not so concentrated up here. He must’ve…” She bit her lip. “It must’ve been bad,” she said.

He didn’t know how to tell her that the murder itself had not been the bad part. Azzan could imagine just what had focused all that demonic energy around his house. He remembered what his bedroom had looked like. “A desire demon,” he said, and Merrill made a noise of agreement. He forced himself to keep calm. He would not show he was afraid.

Faith, again, whispered in the back of his mind. He felt her warmth in his soul, tied nearly inescapably with his own now. She murmured soothing thoughts, whispered of strength and togetherness.  _Shield-brothers and spear-sisters_  stood beside him. He breathed deep and held out his staff. Their magic flowed out around him. He heard Merrill suck in her breath again at the touch of his aura. “All right.” He could feel it again. Just as when he’d searched for it before, the demonic aura oozed down along a path that would lead to the docks. There, it would tangle up with a few other demonic energies, as blood mages tip-toed around the edges of Kirkwall before either leaving or hiding once more. He’d stopped there, unwilling to fall into a trap without back-up.

Now, he continued past the entrance to the docks. The streets were busy, filled with workers and sailors. The sun beat onto the water as it crashed against the stone shore. Azzan resorted to pointing to show where they were all heading, since the shouts of the men and women around them made it nearly impossible to speak. He steadfastly refused to look at the area where the Arishok and his men had once resided.

“So,” Isabela said, practically screaming to be heard above the ruckus, “this whole thing with this killer. Is there any reason why he’d be fixated on you?”

He shook his head. Grimaced. Nodded. “There are a few reasons,” he said. “I helped them. I know them personally. They’re probably refugees.”  _They’re_ _likely_ _interested sexually_. But that one made his gut churn, and he didn’t think he could say it aloud without throwing up. The shame of it warred with the disgust. His friends crammed a bit closer to him as they moved along the edge of the docks, nearly out toward Lowtown. Faith pointed him forward, trailing the feel of the desire demon as it mingled with a pride’s, a sloth’s, and several despairs. He had to stop for a moment as two desire demon auras clashed, but the one he followed was much stronger, and he quickly began moving again.

“This is just for attention, though, right?” Merrill asked. They finally left the ships behind, but they moved into an even more congested area, as dockworkers carried cargo back and forth between the warehouses. For several minutes, the conversation needed to be dropped all over again, as they squeezed their ways through thicker and thicker crowds, careful not to bump into anyone and risk a spill. “To get you to look at them or something. Because you’re important. Maybe they want to be important, too.”

“They’ve succeeded,” Fenris growled. “The entire city will be looking for him.”

Azzan looked at Fenris and smiled. Something fluttered in his chest. He recognized what it was, but it took Faith a few moments to name it. The spirit had only felt it peripherally; now, linked as closely to him as it was, it felt it first-hand. Because Fenris was worried about him, and furious with someone for threatening him, and Azzan couldn’t be happier about it.

“Maybe they’re into something perverted,” Isabela said, her voice sly, and the happiness drained right out of him. He fought not to flinch. “You know. ‘Come to my getaway retreat! We can do the demon dance and get nasty.’” She was trying to make light of the situation, but Azzan’s heart pounded in his chest. He’d become aware that the human was interested in him, but he somehow hadn’t considered what it would mean if the demon got involved, as well. Would it simply be content with taking over his will? Would it attempt to force itself on him? Would it take over the human’s body the way Vengeance had taken over Anders and use its strength on his body?

“Too soon,” Fenris said, his voice snapping Azzan back. Faith soothed him, reminded him that it was with him. It would protect him from possession, and his friends would protect him from everything else.

Only, he thought before he could stop himself, his friends hadn’t been there to stop the murderer from getting into his home. No one had stopped the man from entering, from dragging his victim into Azzan’s living room, from tearing the man open–

Faith tried again, this time reminding him of his own powers. The spirit could help him break that barrier – though Faith felt uncertain about that, which didn’t help soothe him at all – and he could fight back. Though, he thought, again shooting down what she was telling him, if that man who’d been killed in his parlor room had been the powerful blood mage Meredith said he was, then what exactly were Azzan’s chances?

“Sorry, Hawke,” Isabela said. “I wasn’t making light of blood magic or… Just – this guy has to know how ridiculous he’s being. I mean, picking a fight with you? What’s your body count again?”

He smiled for her. He didn’t like to think about his body count, any more than he wanted to think about his chances against this guy. “I don’t think it’s about killing me. Even though he’s likely leading me into a trap, I don’t think it’s something that simple.” He thought of the nest he’d found on his bed and gritted his teeth.

“Still. There have been people who have wanted to get something from you,” Isabela said, either not reading his tension or, more likely, trying to somehow defuse it. “Money, information. That bitch who wanted to hurt Qunari relations, as if anything of the sort was necessary. They all have one thing in common.” Dead. Or close enough. Most often both. Often because he had friends who would come to him the instant he cried foul. Which was why they were here now, together, searching for this man as a team.

His friends kept him strong.  _Raise your voices to the heavens! Remember: not alone do we stand on the field of battle_ _._  He would be much more terrified if he didn’t have his friends by his side. Without them, he wouldn’t be chasing down this demonic energy with any sense of ease.

He stopped. “Here,” he murmured. He stood before an old building, one worn down by the sea wind. The docks’ buildings were primarily made up of pure, solid stone, each linked to one another and separated by stone walls within the frames of the walls of buildings. This one, however, while made up of the same stone and clay, stood separate from the rest, blocking off the lead down to Lowtown. It would have been faster to head from Hightown to Lowtown to return to this place. Most likely, the long route was taken to make it seem as if this  _wasn’t_  a trap. All it did was confirm Azzan’s suspicions.

Without a word, Fenris took point in front of Azzan.

Isabela took her place to Fenris’ right, ready to warn him of traps or launch out at an enemy if one showed. Azzan, likewise, took his place just behind him, Merrill right beside him, to his left. Fenris went to the door and, without knocking or otherwise noting his presence in any way, kicked the door open.

“Mmm,” Isabela murmured, watching Fenris raise that long leg and storm inside. “Me like.”

Azzan hated it, but he had to admit the same. Silently.

“Guard our backs,” he told Aegis, and left the dog beside the door as he stepped inside.

The building was empty, save for a few pieces of furniture covered by white sheets, each with layers of dust left thick on their surfaces. Merrill made a soft noise as she stepped inside, her hands going to grip her staff. On instinct, Azzan did the same, readying himself for a fight. “I know this place,” Merrill said. “The elves call it cursed. They say there’s a lady who roams the halls. She has claws longer than a dragon’s.”

“I’m pretty sure they were trying to scare you with tall tales, kitten,” Isabela said, her smirk softening slightly as she turned in Merrill’s direction.

Merrill blushed. “You think so?”

Azzan didn’t say anything one way or the other. Rumors or not, the feeling of that familiar demonic energy, as if something was ever-reaching, grasping for anything it could get its hands on, pulled and tugged on his consciousness. Yet even as he stepped inside, following the clear path forward, the feeling dissipated. He sucked in a breath. Trap, his mind screamed, and Faith agreed. He set his teeth. Everyone was already prepared for an assault; there was little reason to start shouting about what he felt. Fenris took point through the foyer, using his body to block the entrance to the main room in case anyone – or anything – crawled out of the other doors or the floorboards. But there was nothing. No sound of footsteps, no groans of demons or beasts. Azzan closed his eyes and felt for life signs around the building. Nothing. If there’d been some woman creeping around the house, she wasn’t there now. He opened his eyes, thankful once again to have strengthened the bond between himself and Faith. “There’s nothing living in the building at the moment,” he told everyone. “No demons, either.”

He took another cautious step into the house, anyway, even as Isabela took his word on faith – ha, ha! – and put her weapons away. Fenris, like him, didn’t, and Merrill took one look at Azzan and kept hers out, as well.

The house felt almost clean of demonic energy by the time he stepped through the foyer into the main room. This person left a stain on this house, but he hadn’t done so past the entrance? Why?

He lightly thunked his staff onto the ground and swept a hand through his hair. His fingers caught in his hairtie as he looked around. More furniture, all draped in those starchy sheets, with dust barely kicked up on the floor. He saw nothing to indicate anyone had stepped within the building in the past year or more, even though none of the windows were boarded up and the building was out of the way of the more walked guards’ rounds within the walls of Kirkwall. This would be a great place for the many gangs in Kirkwall to squat. He’d already caught over half a dozen groups of dozens of people living in these old houses or warehouses along the borders of the city, and he had no doubt there were more scattered throughout. He hadn’t for instance, been able to find out the Carta’s main hideout, despite meeting them fairly often in Darktown.

He reached for Faith, only to find the spirit already reacting to his concern. Its aura spilled from within him as if some dam had been lifted. He almost gasped at the feeling. It seemed stronger than ever, stronger than he could ever hope to contain. It caused his heart to pound almost to bursting, his breath leaving him in a rush. As if seeing something too beautiful for words, as if – as if a purer, less base form of when he’d first felt Fenris’ lips against his own. Heady. His head felt as if it was floating above his body. He grinned in wonder.

Fenris turned to him. “Do you sense something?”

He shook his head. “Something’s wrong, though.” He couldn’t be the only one in the group to realize. Isabela still moved about as if without worry, but she kept her body carefully balanced. Merrill held her staff close to her chest, those large eyes taking in the room in quick, jerky movements. Fenris simply stayed in the middle of the main room, ready to move in whichever direction necessary.

When before he’d felt a near-desperation as the feel of the demon faded, now he felt nothing but calm. The demonic aura may have dissipated, but it led him here for a reason. Perhaps he was supposed to lose his composure, rush around and search madly for the next clue. But he didn’t have to do any such thing. There was no way someone trying to lead him into a trap would just leave if he didn’t come immediately. Even if the killer had waited here for him all night, there was little reason to suspect he’d given up and left. There would be  _something_  to lead him to his next stage.

He returned to the foyer. Merrill scurried along after him. He checked the room over again, more carefully this time. The walls were bare of paintings or wooden stands. If anything had once decorated this house – large enough to have been a wealthy merchant’s, if not a lesser noble’s – there was little sign of it all now, save for tiny holes in the paint. Their footsteps had left tracks in the dust, revealing tiles that may have once shined in several colors, reds and golds and browns. The furniture consisted of little more than two long, thin tables, high enough that they would have served as sofa tables if there’d been any such furniture in the room with them. Nothing sat on top save the inch of dust, slowly turning the white sheets yellow.

When the walls and accessories failed, Azzan turned to the windows.

Blackened by grime, the glass was otherwise untouched. Usually such places had windows boarded up, broken, or missing altogether, as those with entrepreneurial enterprises stole from abandoned buildings to sell to Kirkwall’s more open-minded buyers. These, like the rest of the house, remained untouched.

He frowned. Whether or not the rumors of the clawed woman were true or not, they were likely at least somewhat responsible for this. And there had to be  _something_  to them, because there were plenty in Kirkwall ready to test their mettle against anyone in order to secure a location. A place like this, abandoned and studiously avoided, would have been perfect. Yet there were no signs of forced entry, no signs of blood on the walls or beneath the dust. No bones or smell of rotten flesh.

He moved to the windows as Isabela poked at the empty hearth in the main room. “So what’s with this?” she asked. “Your aura’s reaching out further than before. Did you and your spirit get into some deep discussion last night? Work out some  _kinks_  in your relationship?”

He shook his head, but couldn’t help grinning at the pun. “We’re both just a little bit closer to what we each needed.”

Faith caught his amusement. She was the only one who did. Hawke smiled to himself and leaned down. The dust here seemed as evenly spread as everywhere else; the sill carried no scratches or notes, no written messages or traces of taken items. He checked the glass, thinking perhaps that something might have been smeared in the grime, but nothing. He frowned.

“Hawke?” He turned at the sound of Merrill’s voice. The young elf pointed to the far left corner of the room. “Look at this.”

He moved to her side and looked, but he didn’t see anything. He had to kneel by the edge of the floorboards to finally make out what looked to be a small, shiny thing wedged into the very corner of the room. He tilted his head, wondering at it, thinking it might only be an earring or something, until he realized that the light shining in from the windows would have been little more than moonlight if he’d come after he’d just found the dead man in his home. Would the moonlight have shone down on this corner better than pure sunlight? He wouldn’t know without checking whatever the sparkling thing was.

He waited to touch it until Isabela could come over and check it over for traps. Once she gave the all-clear, however, he reached down and pulled it up.

He threw the thing away like it was a scorpion.

His hand shook. The others gave shouted exclamations, each hunching closer to him, creating a shield between him and the rest of the room – between him and the harmless-looking earring. Because it  _was_  an earring. A golden hoop with tiny emeralds encrusted in it. One of a set that he’d retrieved from the Deep Roads, thinking his mother would love it.

He clenched his hand into a fist and curled in on himself. Aegis whined from outside, but stayed where he was.

The bastard had been in his mother’s room. Gone through her things. Taken what belonged to  _her_ , to  _him._  To them. He grabbed his head and closed his eyes.

Faith was there, waiting for him. It looked like the same form, of a sort, if he concentrated hard; otherwise, it was little more than a glowing presence in the back of his mind, a light blue with a bright, bright golden core, pulsing like a heartbeat. He flung himself into the spirit’s embrace with hardly a thought. It caught him, shored him up, the touch of its soul the same as the cool summer winds he felt warming his heart whenever he pulled on its power.  _Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the Light._  Faith waited for him to join it before continuing, its words melding in his mind with his own.  _I shall weather the storm. I shall endure._

He took several slow, deep breaths. His hands shook, but he was able to get himself under some semblance of control. Someone’s hand rested on his shoulder. He looked up to find Fenris close to him, so close his deep green eyes looked almost fused into one. Almost, he leaned into the man’s touch. Almost, he let himself show just how much he wanted Fenris with him through this. Instead he drew one more shaky breath and smiled. Fenris scowled. “I’m all right.”

“Bullshit, hot stuff,” Isabela said, bending down to pick up what he’d tossed aside like garbage. She held it up to the sunlight and inspected it, turning it from side to side. She put her free hand on her hip. “Nothing odd that I can tell.”

“It was meant for him to see,” Merrill said, her voice nervous as she watched Azzan. She stood a few careful steps away, her entire body curled in around her staff. “There was so much demonic energy in the room… but my… my friend could sense it. He knew.”

Azzan closed his eyes. He’d been able to trace the demonic aura, a skill he’d never have had if he hadn’t linked his body and soul to Faith. And yet Merrill, in contact as she was with a demon, had been able to pinpoint something the killer had touched. It seemed he wasn’t the only one getting stronger. Soon Merrill would make the final choice, and there would be no way of saving her.

“So what is it?” Isabela asked. She twirled the earring in her hand. It glinted. Azzan snapped his head away so fast it nearly hurt.

“Put it down!” Merrill said, and her panicked voice made him look back. Fenris placed a hand before his face, blocking his view. A moment later, he lowered it again. Azzan’s cheeks felt like they’d been cooking on a stove for too long.

The earring was nowhere in sight.

Despite himself, he found his heart slowing a bit more, returning to a nearly normal pace. He murmured a quiet thank you and made to stand. Fenris hesitated for a second, then stood, as well. That warm hand slid from his shoulder, leaving him cold. “It’s my mother’s,” Azzan croaked, answering before he had to hear the question asked. Everyone closed their mouths as one. It was almost choreographed.

He wanted to say he didn’t look for the earring. He wanted to say his gaze didn’t drop to Isabela’s hand, now down by her side, then to her clothes, searching for a pocket he couldn’t imagine existed within those tight garments. He would hate to admit he even searched for some telltale lump in her boots. But he did, at least, have the grace to look away again and not ask where she’d put it. It was best he didn’t know.

“Not to bring up a painful subject,” Isabela said, “but why would this guy go to all the trouble of bringing something like  _that_  to somewhere like  _here?”_

That was what he should be focusing on, too. Not how his mother had looked when he’d given her that pair of earrings. The way her eyes had lit up, her fingers cupping the earrings before her as she took them in. Over the years, whatever few trinkets and baubles she’d managed to take from Kirkwall when she’d run away with his father had been sold to fund their run over the years through Ferelden, always trying to stay one step ahead of the templars. She’d lost everything that reminded her of her old noble heritage. He’d wanted to give something of that back to her. She worn those earrings so often, had called them her favorites. The last time he’d seen her wear them, he’d taken her out of Kirkwall, to a place he’d cleared out personally. The two of them had settled onto a blanket, just far enough to see the walls of Kirkwall, but not close enough to have the weight of those walls encroach on them. It had been one of the few moments when he’d been able to speak to her without worrying about anyone overhearing or overseeing. She’d spoken further on her desire to live beyond the death of their father, of her belief that life should be a succession of steps, ever moving forward.

She’d asked him if he was able to do the same with Fenris. He’d been honest with her when he’d shaken his head. “No,” he’d whispered. She’d cupped his cheek and smiled.

“You’ve always been the one to love endlessly. I’ve seen what that costs you. I’d prefer you to be able to move forward.”

“This  _is_  me moving forward, Mom,” he’d said, and placed his hand over hers. “I’m just choosing how.”

He looked up. “This man. This killer.” He licked his lips. “He’s made it clear several times that he’s been watching me. He likely knows where my mother last wore those.”

Merrill blanched. “What?”

But Azzan stood. He knew where he had to go. “There’s a place about half a mile from Kirkwall. She and I went to a grove. We were alone, but she’d insisted on dressing up. She said it was an important occasion when her son took her out.” He blushed for a moment, and his heart wrenched in his chest. Faith sent a burst of cool summer wind through him, and Fenris came up close to his side. “If he’s still waiting, he’ll be there.”

They left, Aegis taking his place by Azzan’s side. Azzan took another look at the room before he closed the door behind him. The only tracks were still their own; the killer must have sent his demon out to place that earring down. Desire demons needn’t stand like mortal men. He made to close the door behind them, but it clicked only slightly; Fenris had broken the lock when he’d busted it down earlier.

“Aegis,” he said quietly. “I need you to go back home.” The mabari made a whining growl. “I know. But we may be wrong here. I need to know that man won’t take this chance to lead us on a wild goose chase and return to the mansion.”

The mabari whined. Growled. And finally dipped its head in acknowledgment. It took off down the streets.

When they moved to leave Kirkwall, their positions in battle changed. Suddenly Azzan was surrounded, fenced in by his friends as if physically they could keep at bay the pain this man was inflicting on his heart. He was so, so grateful to have them.

* * *

Azzan was half afraid they would spend the entire walk in tense silence, his friends tip-toeing around his sorrow as if he was a trap trigger. He’d forgotten who it was he’d brought along.

“So that place,” Isabela said, not three minutes into their trek. “It would have been good for some body paint, you know what I mean?” She flapped her arms a bit. “Dust angels.”

At first, no one responded. Then Fenris spoke. His voice, when he did, was so low it reverberated down Azzan’s spine and into his feet. “Sounds messy.”

“A bit of grunge can be the best part,” she said, and Azzan just knew she’d sent Fenris a wink.

“Grunge?” Merrill asked. “You like rolling in dirt?”

“Depends on why we’re rolling, kitten.” Azzan didn’t turn, but he felt muscles in his back and arms untense as his friends continued. Poor Merrill listened with rapt attention, either simply curious or, more likely, interested in what Isabela liked. Fenris kept up the conversation, though his voice never quite reached his normal octave. Azzan remembered what that deep bass felt like on his skin. He flushed just thinking about it. Thanks to the nearly overwhelming feeling of serenity Faith was ushering within him, the pain of hearing that tone in conjunction with Isabela was slightly lessened. A little. Very little.

Funny how, even as he battled grief, a part of him could find the time to battle jealousy, too.

Fenris was the one to cut into Merrill’s questions as they left Kirkwall and headed out across its shore toward the forested mountains. “I don’t think that house would be the place for it, though. There have to be… better places to get dirty.”

“Oh, opportunities abound,” Isabela said. Her position shifted; she left Azzan side enough to slip up to Fenris, her shoulder nearly bumping into his as she leaned toward his ear. “Outdoors for the exhibition. After a battle for the blood rush. In the dust and grime for the trails.” She leaned in close. Her lips nearly brushed the tip of Fenris’ ear. “Imagine seeing every place you’ve touched marked indelibly on their skin.”

Fenris shivered. Azzan, standing right behind him, got a front row seat to the spectacle. He blushed and looked away. Merrill, he saw, had done the same. She bore the same pinched lips as he. They were both trying to pretend they didn’t care.

The grove wasn’t so far from Kirkwall that the conversation had to continue as long as it did. That didn’t mean Isabela didn’t try. She left a hand idling on Fenris’ arm as they walked, her fingertips brushing against the line of skin visible beneath the leather strip of armor on his upper arm. They trailed over the elf’s markings just in time for her to switch the conversation from lines of grime to speculations on how he might be able to leave some sort of permanent markings with his ability. Fenris didn’t respond to these, at least, and the conversation turned finally to the scent of the sea in the air and the sound of the grass as another strong autumn wind blew past them. Isabela dropped her hand from Fenris’ arm.

Finally, as Azzan pointed toward the small circle of trees just before the edge of Sundermount, the conversation died entirely. It made the last part of the trek buzz in Azzan’s ears. He remembered the last time he’d walked this path. No matter how soothing Faith tried to be, even it couldn’t stop the steady increase of his pulse, his breath. He’d been led to this place by the killer. The man who had snooped through his mother’s room, who had rolled around on his bed like an untrained mabari, who had murdered a man right in his living room, had led him here with his mother’s jewelry, all for the sake of getting to him.

Why? Couldn’t he have just waited in Azzan’s home for him? When Azzan had walked through his front door to find the corpse dripping into the tiles on his floor, couldn’t the killer have simply attacked him then? He could have killed or knocked out Orana, or even held her hostage. Why hadn’t he? Why play this kind of game?

The grove looked empty as they came upon it. It was a natural recess in the treeline, a semi-circle of tall, thick trunks around a small grouping of bushes. In the spring, those bushes would be filled with berries, and the smaller animals that lived on the forest’s edges would come out and feast upon the berries and the thick green leaves before hopping back up to their perches. A couple of boulders sat deep in the earth, likely creating the circular opening to begin with, halting the tracks of the roots. He and his mother had sat on those rocks after they’d eaten. They’d stayed there until the sun had begun to dip below the horizon, then had hurried home, their inane conversation never pausing until they returned to the city’s walls. His mother’s dress had been a wrinkled mess, but she’d simply laughed and told him she’d had far too nice a time to care.

His heart ached. He missed her. Fiercely.

They approached the grove as slowly as they had the house, in the same battle positions as before. Azzan and Merrill both swept the area for signs of life as they got near. Thanks to Faith, he could feel countless tiny dots – there were several creatures here, unlike in the house before. He hadn’t thought anything of it then, since he’d never been able to feel anything so precise before, but now he sensed that there’d been something horribly wrong with that building. He could feel everything here – birds in the trees, squirrels, voles, rabbits, even far-off deer, so many signs of life it overwhelmed him. He could even feel bugs. It was as if he was somehow attuned to all life, every piece of the earth, in a way he’d never been before. The world seemed so immeasurably vast. When his whole life, the Fade had seemed sometimes so close as to be touchable, it now seemed almost to press around him. He could taste it in the very air. He’d never heard of such a thing before, even from Anders, who had needed to use a test to see if there’d been a demon in a templar they’d once Found. He pulled back, his eyes wide. There was another problem to consider.

He could feel all life. Even bugs. What sort of abandoned building by the docks held no bugs?

“There’s someone here!” Merrill whispered, and he forced himself to look again. When he did, Faith’s energy pooled from within him. He called on it in a heartbeat, wrapped it around himself and his friends.

Someone was here, all right. And they were an abomination.

“I got bored,” a voice said. It came from behind the trees. Something frissoned up Azzan’s spine. The voice was a deep tenor, nearly cultured. A movement, and Azzan could see the flap of a cloak near the base of the trunk. The person seemed to be leaning against the tree. The presence had been little more than a sliver when he’d sensed it, but it grew even as he watched. As if whoever it was had linked up again with his demon. As if the two traveled freely, only to return to one another. He realized what that meant just before the feeling slammed into him.

 _Voracity_. Faith’s knowledge of the being spilled into him as its power surged throughout the grove. The demon the man was linked with truly was named, after all. Powerful enough to merge itself with someone while retaining its own form. Feeding on him, taking on its form outside of the Fade. His stomach quivered. Even with his friends, he wasn’t certain they could defeat this demon. And the name he’d felt in Faith’s mind – Voracity. A powerful desire demon, one who endlessly craved. His fingers shook around his staff. He dared step forward. “You got bored. Because I didn’t come to you last night.”

The sound of moving cloth, and then the arm of a cloak stretched beyond the edge of the tree. Azzan poured out a pulsing wave of mana, trying to warn Fenris back. The elf looked ready to leap across the distance toward the man. But something didn’t feel right. “Now, I didn’t like that at first. Especially since you got back with your spirit friend and stopped me from getting to you.” Azzan’s heart raced. Faith had been right. It really  _had_  been him. “But I understood. That’s how you fight. You always protect people. How could you do that without Faith? And you do it so well. Look at you.” There was something like awe in that deep tenor voice. Azzan’s stomach clenched and trembled at the sound. “You’re closer to her than ever. Se’s not just touching your soul, but a part of it. Linked to your body, now, too. So good. I knew I’d chosen the right person to emulate.”

Azzan opened his mouth to respond, but he couldn’t think of anything. All he could think of was that nest of his clothes, the body, the earring. He had to clench his teeth to keep from gasping.

“But then this.” The person leaned out from behind the tree. His face was turned just enough for Azzan to see the shape of the top of the hood, but it was too long and thick for him to see any of the man’s face. “Your friends? Why did you bring them?”

“To stop you,” Fenris growled. His fingers clenched tight around his sword. Azzan saw the blade dip and tilt as Fenris prepared to swing.

“Stop me?”

Azzan grabbed Fenris’ shoulder. He clenched tighter than he meant to in order to hide the worst of his trembling. At the way Fenris froze, he wasn’t positive he’d managed to pull it off. “You left a mess in my house,” he said. “You frightened Orana. She’d thought I’d used blood magic.”

Isabela sent Azzan a quick look, her eyes narrowing. She knew what he was doing. Or, rather, what he was trying to prevent.

The cloaked man paused for a moment as if digesting his words. “And now? You bring your friends?”

Azzan hesitated. This was the part that would make or break his chances. “Just in case.”

The man turned more fully to him then. “Just in case,” he echoed, and Azzan’s heart thrummed like a plucked string up to his throat. He hoped the fear in him couldn’t be heard in his voice.

“I’ve had many try to trick me before.”

“I’m not like them.” The person finally pulled away from the tree, finally, finally, finally. Azzan slammed a glyph beneath his feet. The man simply stepped over it. “You needn’t worry about my intentions. I simply want to help you.” The man held out his hand. Fenris stepped blatantly in front of Azzan. A small shot of warmth burst in Azzan’s belly, replaced by absolute terror as Fenris placed himself in the line of fire.

The cloaked man looked at Fenris and sighed. “I wanted to meet with  _you_. I should have known you wouldn’t come see me alone. You hardly go anywhere alone. That’s why I set all this up.” The man spread his arms out to indicate the grove, and likely everything else, as well. “So we would get the chance to talk. But we can still have some time to ourselves, at least.” The man waved that hand to his side. Azzan tensed, ready for demons to come sliding out of the Fade at his whim. Instead, a young woman, thin as a rake, stepped out from behind another tree. Hawke tilted his head at the sight. He’d felt only one living humanoid here, and that had clearly been this man. How had she gotten past Faith’s perception? What made her so… He sucked in a breath. Her ratty dress was ripped nearly to shreds, showing off a large portion of her chest and right thigh. It was stained almost completely with blood.

“I told you,” the man said, and the terror ratcheted up a little higher. “I got bored. She was supposed to be a gift to you. To show you what I can do. But you took too long.” The man sighed as if he’d been minorly inconvenienced. “But it worked out! See?” He waved the girl forward. She took only a single step, her body teetering slightly, before her arms started to stretch unnaturally. Her fingers lengthened into claws.

“Oh,” Isabela said, with a tone that slid between understanding and revulsion. “Great.”

“Oh!” Merrill stepped forward a bit. “It’s the girl from the docks! They said she had claws!”

Fenris’ lyrium markings flared to life.

“Wait,” Azzan started, but the girl attacked, and there was no time  _to_  wait. Her movements were more like a cat’s; she bent low, her legs growing unnaturally long and thin as she sprung forward like a coil. She clanged against Fenris’ sword, raised just in time to stop her assault. Fenris planted his feet before Azzan and growled, his markings flaring more prominently moments before he threw her off. Isabela raced forward, chasing after the girl as Merrill called upon her own demon – Azzan could feel it now, too, stronger than ever, though Faith mentioned no names at its presence save  _pride_ and, oddly, the world  _trapped_. Azzan fed his aura forward, but had barely prepared another glyph before he saw the cloaked man move.

Even with Faith, even with his friends, he stood nearly paralyzed as the man stepped closer. Every muscle in his body seemed to lock. His mind flashed back to the moment before Bethany had died, when he and Carver had stood frozen in fear at the sight of the ogre. Bethany had been the one to move, to take a stance before their mother and try to fight the beast off. She had been the one to know what needed to be done. She may have died, but the rest of them had lived. Because she’d had the strength to move while he…

“Stop,” he said. His voice cracked, but he stood his ground. Fenris stayed with him for a moment, but eventually he was forced from Azzan’s side to keep the dead woman from puncturing Isabela’s stomach. Fenris leaped at the girl as Azzan turned to the killer. Merrill, at least, stayed by his side.

“I just want to speak with you alone. Without your usual entourage.” The man held out his arms. The cloak slid up enough for Azzan to see his hands and wrists. Deeply tanned skin, just as reported. He saw the smooth sheen of those hands, unlike the calluses on his own. This man hadn’t worked labor, not once in his life. “Don’t worry. I’m certain your friends will be able to handle her. She was only possessed by a terror demon. Hardly worth anyone’s time, even if it is a greater form.”

This man knew about demons. Azzan’s eyes narrowed. Most non-mages had little patience to learn about demons that would rarely affect their lives. They might know the major players – rage, desire, pride – but they inevitably failed to recognize their lesser-known counterparts, and certainly knew very little about lesser and greater forms. This man worked closely with magic. Templar? Chantry elder? Lyrium worker?

He could feel Faith’s aura running through him, an endless ocean whose tide flowed wide at his urging. But even Faith seemed wary to take on this man, and Azzan could tell, thanks to her, why. Voracity was a powerful desire demon, stronger than any he’d faced so far. Faith feared his lack of strength. His friends’ lack of strength. And since Voracity had chosen to join with a living human, its power wasn’t lessened by its walk in the real world.

He’d brought his friends here to help defeat this man, but he was skeptical now that it could be done. Which meant he needed to at least make certain everyone got out all right.

But then, a little voice inside him whispered, what about him? When this man came after him again, would there be anything Azzan could do to fight him off?

The man sighed. Azzan dared a look over his shoulder, even as Faith sent wordless warnings through his mind. Fenris stood just before the girl, barely managing to block the incessant swipe of her claws. He kept having to retreat in order to move his sword into position in time. Isabela, meanwhile, took up the task of damage, though it all seemed to do very little. Each stab and slice cut deep, but no blood flowed. Merrill was the one to give Fenris the space he needed, smashing rocks against the abomination’s side. The dead girl fell to the ground. Fenris charged forward, though his chest heaved in effort. Azzan healed him without thought.

“You always worry about others.”

Azzan froze. By the time he forced himself to turn back, the man had stalked even closer. Azzan held his breath. The killer was close enough now for Azzan to see his chin, the tip of his nose, and he could swear he’d seen it all before. The reports had told him a thin chin, yet, looking at it now, he could see it was clearly thick, if not perhaps quickly climbing up the sides of his jawline. And the nose was big, too. Yet the body wasn’t thick or pudgy. He forced himself to look harder, to try to see more. To stay focused on what mattered instead of losing himself to fear. But before he could, the person… moved. It was the only explanation he had for how, in one moment, the man stood a few paces away, and in the next, he stood just in front of Azzan, so close their chests touched, and leaned in – he was tall, but not outrageously so, even though at the moment Azzan felt dwarfed by the feel of the abomination surrounding him – and whispered, “you won’t need to worry about me.”

On instinct, he pushed his mana out in a wild fling. The man flew back, away from him, and landed on his side. The cloak slipped enough for Azzan to make out dark bangs underneath the man’s cowl.

He placed his staff before him and called on Faith. He wasn’t ready. He would likely never be ready. The fear humming under his skin had been embedded in him through years of watching this man work, months of cryptic letters, hours with the knowledge that this man had invaded his life. If he gave this murderer any more time, he would only cause more damage. It would be best to take care of him now. He just hoped he and his friends would be enough.

“Isabela,” he said, raising his voice to be heard above the battle, “switch with Merrill. Merrill, if you see Fenris needs help, call my name. Isabela, take offense. I’ll take defense.”

They all moved. He didn’t even look around to be sure; he simply knew they would. As the man before him pushed himself back up, Isabela came to his side. He felt the presence of Merrill and her demon lessen slightly and knew she’d done as he’d said, as well. The man pulled down his cowl before turning back to him. “This,” he said, “had better be what I hope it is.”

Azzan lifted his chin. “No matter what it is you wished to accomplish, you’ve murdered countless people, including servants and children. I don’t know what you thought that would achieve, but if you thought it would make me want to work with you, you’re grievously mistaken.”

His stomach trembled as the man stood. Faith cataloged the strength of the demonic energy as it bubbled out, and it just grew and grew. He’d thought Merrill’s link with her pride demon had gotten stronger, but compared to this man’s, it was nothing. Something red flashed within the shadows of that cowl before the man spoke. “I have done everything to join you. To make you see who I can be to you. And this is how you repay me?!”

“I can’t control what you do,” Azzan said. “But I can control myself.” He twirled his staff. He could feel each of his friends around him – Merrill, easily cataloged by the demon pulsing with glee at the taste of her blood; Fenris, with the lightning-touch of lyrium sparking on his skin; Isabela, harder to catch than the others, but giving off a deliberate sense of life and vitality as she skulked her way around their enemy. He surged Faith’s power into his own and channeled it through their bodies, bubbled it into their blood and coursed it through their muscles. As the power pulsed, he felt them all respond, their attacks faster than his eyes would have been able to track just moments before. The dead girl shrieked loud enough to shake the trees.

“How dare you!” The killer held out his hand. That’s all he did. He held no staff, no weapon – wherever the knives he’d used on the girl were, they weren’t used now. And yet everything around Azzan seemed to still. His ears popped. He flinched. All around him, he could see everyone moving still; nothing had actually stopped. Yet he heard nothing. His heart climbed its way into his throat. He looked back at the killer with wide eyes. The man still wasn’t moving, but there was something – something in his stance – Azzan flinched as something swept over his body. As if something was trying to claw its way inside. Faith pushed it away with an ease Azzan hadn’t expected. He felt something around his body, just beneath his skin. Like a barrier, it beat against the Fade, inside the Fade, within and without. The killer hissed. “You’ve gotten that close to your demon? And you condemn me?”

He could hear the man perfectly. How? He looked around again, but Fenris’ mouth was open on a shout as he carved a long slice into the abomination’s shoulder, and Merrill’s magic swam in the air, and Isabela’s feet shifted in the grass, and he couldn’t hear any of it. “Faith is not a demon,” Azzan said, turning back around, and jumped at the sound of his own voice. It seemed to burst in the dead air. “Don’t confuse her with the deal you’ve made.”

Something niggled at the back of his mind. Faith. She called to him, warned him of something. What? What was wrong? He looked around again, this time taking in more than he had before. And saw Merrill’s legs buckle. He gasped. He couldn’t hear her. She was opening her mouth, her lips – now that he watched – clearly forming his name. Yet he couldn’t hear her. He focused Faith’s energy.

“Hold him still.”

He couldn’t move. Something held him in place, as frozen as the sound in the grove. Isabela, likely noticing his vulnerability, snuck in for an attack. Azzan focused the well of mana within him to his staff, anyway, only for the killer to move forward, reach out, and pluck his staff from his fingers as if Azzan had offered it to him himself. The man twisted it in his hands with the skill of long practice and smashed it into Isabela’s chin. Her mouth opened as if on a cry. Blood covered her lips. She fell to Azzan’s side. He hissed in a breath. “I didn’t want this,” the man said. Terror spiked within Azzan anew as the man drew close. Closer. “I killed them to protect mages. To protect  _you_. Those ‘innocent servants’ were gathering information on you. They were going to take it to the templars, show them who you were. You would have been locked up. All because your neighbors couldn’t mind their own business. And that woman and child.” The man reached up and touched Azzan’s cheek. Rubbed his thumb against his stubble. “They had been told by their husband and father to tell him of anyone they thought might be mages. They were about to sell out your mother. Did you know that? Your mother had gone to tea with them and a few other women, and they’d thought your mother a bit too pro-mage for their liking. That little girl had been the mother’s spy, asking questions about your mother’s opinions on magic.” Azzan blinked. He couldn’t breathe. “You didn’t know that, did you? You didn’t know that I was protecting you. But I was.” Another long, slow touch, and then the man moved away again. “I can understand. You didn’t know, so you thought I was just a killer. I’ve seen how you deal with people like that. I understand,” he said again, as if convincing himself. “It’s all right. I forgive you.”

Oh, Maker, this man had killed those people in order to keep Azzan from being taken in by the templars. He’d managed to get caught, and because of that, innocent people had been murdered. A  _child_  had been murdered. And this man… “Why?” he asked. His voice fell to a whisper, yet still it punched through the deafening silence like an explosion. “Why me?”

The man tilted his head. Azzan thought he might have been surprised by the question. He could swear he knew this man. That voice. That skin. He did. Somewhere, he’d seen this man before.

When the man stepped forward again, there was something different about how he walked. Something that reminded Azzan of Isabela. On the prowl. He blanched. “Because you gave me purpose.” He knew that voice. He knew that voice.  _He knew that voice_. “You gave me a reason to continue when everything was going to hell. I took one look at you, and I knew.” The man cupped his cheek again. “And you haven’t let me down.”

There were so many people he’d helped over the years. He couldn’t possibly begin to remember them all. But at least now he knew why all of this was happening. Aveline had been right. It wouldn’t do much, but at least now he had some sort of motive. If only… if only this man wasn’t touching him like this. If only he wasn’t so close. If only Azzan couldn’t see, in the back of his mind, the nest this man had made on his bed. If only he didn’t know this man had gone through his mother’s things.

“I worked so hard,” the man said. Azzan peered beneath the cloak as well as he could, but the face was distorted within. The eyes glowed red. “I joined with a powerful demon, just so I could have a touch of the power you wield. With that demon’s help, I’ve grown strong. Stronger, and stronger, as I’ve gotten closer and closer to you. I can fight at your side now. Do you see?” The man spread his free arm out, but Azzan couldn’t see anything. He couldn’t turn his head to look. “I have your powers and more. You needed to leave me behind before, but not this time. Not ever again.”

He didn’t know what the man was talking about. He didn’t even know who he was! “You’re attacking my friends,” he murmured. His lips quivered. The man stroked them.

“Only for now. To keep them away so we can talk. I won’t let them die. I know you care about them. I know everything about you. I understand you.” The man nodded, as if to himself. “I’ll show you. I’ll keep showing you. So you can see me for who I am.” A short pause, a shifting of the cowl. Azzan thought the man might be smiling. But he didn’t think the man looked very human at the moment. The finger against his skin felt wrong. He couldn’t quite see it, but he didn’t think it was the same color it had been before. “You’ll accept me.” The man indicated his hood. “And then you can join me. We can join each other. You’ll see just how good I am, and we can go on our own adventures together. Doesn’t that sound perfect?” The man stepped away, then looked over Azzan’s shoulder. He sighed. “It seems our time is up for now. But I’ll still be here, all right? I’ll always be here.”

The man turned and walked away. Just like that. Fenris raced past Azzan, his body blazing blue as he chased the killer into the trees. Azzan made a startled sound and tried to wrench himself free. Faith’s power pulsed inside him, a deep well of bluish-gold. Yet she could not break him free. He scanned the treeline as the seconds ticked past. Suddenly something snapped around him, and the muscles he’d been straining snapped to attention, and he was stumbling forward, his legs slipping as if still in place when they were moving, and he was on his knees. “Fenris,” he said, and then, when he heard his voice break something around him and the wind returned and the birds chirped and the world came alive again, he shouted, “Fenris!”

His magic blossomed around him. He felt Faith within him, her warmth almost hot as the spirit gave itself to him, and he threw it everywhere, to his friends he could still feel around him, to Merrill, though her essence felt weak, hardly there, to Isabela, still on the ground to his right, and out and out and out, stretching it in the hopes that he could reach Fenris, who felt so very, very far away. He felt tears streak down his face.

He had never felt so helpless in his life.

Only a few moments, and he’d located Fenris. The elf was no longer chasing anything down, and the feeling of that demon – of Voracity – was already leading away, further into the forest, near the base of the mountain. He forced himself to his feet and moved to the treeline, intent on following Fenris. But when he turned around, he found his two other friends just now getting to their feet, Merrill using her staff as a cane and Isabela touching her cheek and the streak of blood drying on her skin. He looked out to where he could feel Fenris’ presence, then turned back to the girls. “How are you both?” he asked, and moved first to Isabela’s side. She used his arm to pull herself up and made a show of trying to clean the dirt and grass off her clothes.

“Not nearly as fun if you get dirty like this,” she said, and he just rolled his eyes.

“Are you all right?” he asked again, barely managing to swallow back a joke about her at least having a clean bill of health. He eyed Merrill for a moment, as well. His aura pulsed around him, enough so that he could at least be slightly certain Isabela was all right. When she nodded, he hurried over to Merrill’s side. She swayed a bit where she stood. “Merrill?”

“I’m all right,” she said, though she still clung to her staff for dear life. “Just used a little too much. You know.”

Too much blood magic. Yet he couldn’t fault her; she’d likely needed to push herself to the limit to take care of the dead abomination before it took both her and Fenris down. He looked at the dead body. It was cut nearly beyond any repair, pieces of the body left hanging by little more than bone – and even those were cracked or broken, leaving one arm dangling by a thin sliver of skin and muscle, proof that Fenris and Merrill had torn the thing apart. “Is the demon dead, as well?”

Merrill wiped her brow. “They’d been fully bonded, so yeah.” She cleared her throat and looked around. “Isabela? And where’s Fenris?”

“He chased him,” Azzan said with a frown. “If you and Isabela are up for it, I need to go to him.”

“Of course,” Isabela said, cutting into the conversation. “We’re fine. We’ll be even better if we stick with you.”

But he shook his head. “I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t… couldn’t focus my magic.” Isabela brought his staff to him. He took it with a grateful smile. It wobbled at the edges. “I couldn’t feel you properly. It was like… like a bubble had been placed between me and the outside world. I couldn’t reach anything beyond that space.”

“We realized you couldn’t hear us when I kept shouting for you,” Merrill said, nodding. “Fenris looked upset. As soon as we took care of her,” she said, indicating the corpse, “he ran straight to you.”

Azzan covered his mouth and nodded. The two women could stand on their own. He made for the feeling of Fenris. The elf still stood in place, and though Azzan couldn’t sense the killer anymore, he feared the man had left Fenris as trapped as he’d left Azzan. “I couldn’t hear you, and you couldn’t hear me. Could you feel my presence while I was inside there?” he asked, turning his gaze momentarily to Merrill as he continued through the trees, past the few small saplings and bushes and into the shade of the forest.

Merrill shrugged. “I didn’t try to look. I could see you just fine.”

He nodded. He couldn’t be sure, then, but he thought she likely couldn’t feel him, any more than he’d been able to feel them. His magic hadn’t been able to reach them, either. Had he been put into some sort of cage? Pulled into something he couldn’t understand? He’d certainly still been awake, still been a part of the real world – Faith would have notified him otherwise, if nothing else – but he thought Voracity might have been able to hold him in a place beyond just this one, or in some sort of magical cage. The killer had, after all, said, “hold him still.” That meant the killer hadn’t been the one doing it. The demon had been.

What power did such a demon possess to be able to do such a thing? To not just silence someone within some sort of magical shell, but to also be able to hold them in place? But it must have been limited, at least in the beginning; the young girl and several of the servants had clearly been running when they’d been caught. Then again, there had to have been some way for the killer to get a powerful mage inside of Hawke’s mansion without anyone seeing. He was beginning to fear the man had walked there himself, under the power of a force not his own. No wonder there had been so much blood.

He scrubbed his face in his hands as he picked up the pace. Fenris still hadn’t moved. He nearly ran. The only thing stopping him was the knowledge that the women still hadn’t fully healed, and even then, neither of them made a sound of complaint as he pushed them faster and faster. He cast another hastening spell as they moved, until finally they were able to reach Fenris, meters out; he’d clearly pushed himself hard to run this far this fast, and yet still there was no visible sign of the killer. Only the feel of his demon remained, leaving a trail strong enough to tinge the land with darkness.

The trees grew denser as they moved in, leaving behind the border of the forest for its belly. Because of the maze of trees, it took him a few moments to spot Fenris, still standing in place, his sword down by his side, his shoulders tense. Azzan left the women then to go to his side. Faith lent more energy to him before he even had the chance to ask. He healed Fenris immediately, even though he couldn’t see any grave injuries. Fenris turned at the feel of Azzan’s magic, at least, but there was something odd in the shape of his lips.

“Fenris.” He stopped by the man’s side. Faith already searched the area, double-checking what he already knew. He dared touch the man’s shoulder.

It was like he’d punched him. Fenris wrenched himself away from him, those eyes narrowing on him. “What was that, Hawke?” he asked. Azzan dropped his hand like it was lead. “You say we’re coming out to fight this man, and then suddenly you’re acting friendly and letting him–”

“Stop right there,” Isabela said. She placed an arm between the two of them, forcing Azzan back a step. She stood before him, acting as a shield from Fenris. “Hawke was the one who was able to trace this guy to begin with. And if you’ll recall, this man’s been in Hawke’s home. No one could want this resolved more than him. Which means that, when he came face-to-face with the bastard, Hawke saw we couldn’t beat him  _and left the easier target for you_.”

Azzan couldn’t tell what was happening. Fenris’ eyes stayed squinted, but his lips pulled back in a grimace. He looked like he was having a hard time breathing. Like he was somehow feeling the fear Azzan himself had just minutes ago.

“I don’t know what happened back there,” Isabela said, “but I do know Hawke wouldn’t act like the man’s friend unless he thought it necessary.”

“I couldn’t move, Fenris,” he said. Fenris stiffened. “Whatever power his demon has that allows him to silence others, it can also be used to hold them in place.”

“Just like that, though?” Merrill said, her voice quiet. “Wasn’t there anything Faith could do? I mean, you two are so close now.”

He shook his head. “No. Nothing.”

Which meant they were only alive because the mass murderer had deemed fit to leave them so. He closed his eyes. He’d nearly gotten everyone killed. He covered his face with his hand. His other tightened around the grip of his staff until it hurt. He couldn’t heal. He couldn’t attack. He couldn’t do anything.

They weren’t strong enough to defeat that man. Which meant he was susceptible to whatever the killer wanted. He could find the man waiting for him at home. He could find another message, another body. The man had seemed content to wait for a little while longer, but for how long? How much longer before it was too late, and the man came to join him? And when Azzan refused – and he  _would_ , he wouldn’t travel with a murderer, he wouldn’t travel with this man who terrified him so thoroughly – what would be done to him then? The killer had touched him so casually. Had gotten into his space as if he was a lover. Azzan shuddered. The killer hadn’t said anything about lust, or about ownership. But was there any guarantee that such things weren’t byproducts of what this man was after?

Voracity. A great consumption of food, or a strong desire for some activity. What activity, exactly? Simply traveling around with Azzan, as his friends did now? He didn’t think a desire demon would allow the goal to be so mundane.

“Hawke.”

Azzan opened his eyes to find Isabela stepping slightly away. Just enough for Azzan to see the contrition on Fenris’ face. “I apologize. I didn’t…”

“By now,” Azzan said, “you either trust me or you don’t.”

Fenris nodded, jerkily. He put his sword away on his back. His hand, when it lowered, touched briefly on the cloth wrapped around his wrist. “I do. I just… don’t understand. You said he’d left bodies. Letters. You said nothing of…”

Hawke looked away. “He says he wants to travel with me. To go on adventures. That’s how he put it. But I think the demon has been twisting what he wants. He doesn’t seem to have realized it yet, but it’s happening.”

Merrill made a short, high-pitched sound of dismay. “That’s not good.”

“No. It isn’t.” The trees whistled as yet another heavy wind blew through the gaps in the trees. The branches swayed overtop them, sending the shadows on the ground into a tumult. “But there was nothing I could do.” His fingers went numb around his staff. “And he didn’t even bring out any lesser demons, which the demon inside him must have plenty of. With the power he wields, I don’t know if even Meredith’s men would be able to contain him.”

“He’s as strong as a magister, then,” Fenris said, his voice gravelly once more. This time, Azzan recognized the sound easily. Anger.

“Then this city isn’t safe for you, Hawke.” Isabela raised one hand. “Come with me. I’m going to get out of here. I don’t have to look for that book anymore, and it’s about time I got to getting myself a boat. You can always tag along.”

But even as she was speaking, he shook his head. “No. I know you like going where the wind blows, Isabela, but that’s not for me. For better or worse, Kirkwall’s my home now. Besides.” He looked to Fenris and Merrill for only a moment. It was long enough to see the stricken look on Merrill’s face as she looked at Isabela, and the carefully neutral look on Fenris’. “There are people who are depending on me. Orana and Bodahn, to start with. I can’t just abandon this place because things are tough.”

“That’s the  _best_  time to abandon a place,” Isabela said, but she sighed immediately afterward. “All right. I know better than to keep asking. You may seem all chummy, but you’re one of the stubbornest people I know.”

He grinned. “I try.”

They started making their way back, heading through the trees in swerving patterns that at times broke up their gang. Merrill, unsurprisingly, took to the workout with an ease the rest of them lacked, though Fenris was a close second. Azzan tried so hard to stop staring at the elf’s legs he nearly smacked headfirst into a tree.

Isabela sent him a knowing smirk.

If they continued acting normal, Azzan thought, he just might be able to forget what everything he’d learned today meant for him.

His smiles got a little bit tighter.

* * *

He didn’t find anything out of place when he went home, and he made a point to check and catalog every room up and down. Isabela had given him the earring they’d found in the abandoned house, and after a thorough check of his mother’s room – during which he’d found nothing else out of place – he found the full set to be missing. Which meant the killer had held on to the second of his mother’s earrings. He could already guess why.

He placed the earring back where it belonged, in the top drawer of his mother’s jewelry dresser. Then he closed the dresser drawer and left the room.

He didn’t hear from the killer for months, despite the light, uneasy sleep he found himself getting, and even that, those first few weeks, had been entirely thanks to Faith’s tireless efforts. He’d just begun to wonder if perhaps the killer had gone on vacation or, perhaps, been devoured by his own demon, when Satinalia swept through Kirkwall. A few days before the holiday, he’d woken up to find a few presents waiting for him. He’d opened a small one to find a woman’s ear, slowly rotting, with his mother’s earring sparkling upon the lobe.

_Happy Satinalia. Thinking of you._

He lost his breakfast just before he reached the latrine.


End file.
